


The Path of Fraudulence

by LaFemmePoeme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (kind of), Also I Fucked Around With Languages Since It Seemed Fitting, F/F, OFC Is Technically A Character Of Mine But Can Also Be A Stand-In For The Reader, Pure Self-Indulgence Cause I Adore Helen And You Should Too, Seduction, Surreal imagery, Talk Of Madness, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaFemmePoeme/pseuds/LaFemmePoeme
Summary: "By the twisting strokes of all the things that never were;In their unborn screams, I am opened, in lies my hands are tied"A woman confronts her Madness in the depths of the night.
Relationships: Helen Richardson (The Magnus Archives)/Original Female Character(s), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)/Original Character(s), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Kudos: 5





	The Path of Fraudulence

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo.....I still adore Helen. And I needed more content of her to calm my lesbian heart, so I wrote some myself.  
> Think what you will of reader inserts, but I just really needed this ok. Forgive my poor gay soul. 
> 
> The poetry section in the beginning is written in Finnish, my mother tongue, since language fuckery just felt appropriate. There is a translation at the end of the fic.

_ Kaikkien olemattomien asioiden kieroutuvilla hipaisuilla _

_ Heidän syntymättömissä huudoissaan minä avaudun, valheissa käteni on sidottu _

_ Kun hulluuden sairaalloiset vuorovedet loiskivat jaloissani _

_ ‘Hän’ puhuu kielillä, jotka eivät ole vielä syntyneet, _

_ julma, jos sellainen voi olla _

_ Epävarmuuteen vereni on haudattu _

_ Yön sydän ei tunne valoa, _

_ Kun hiivin käytävällä peloissani _

_ ‘Hän’ odottaa takana oven, joka kerran oli minun _

_ Se on nyt ‘hänen’ _

  
  
  


A body bathed in golden yellow light, sunrise and flowers and rotted teeth and all the things that have been taken from her, now standing by the mouth of a neverending Deception. The colours ‘she’ adorns are so very tasteless, tacky like her mother’s old clothes, an oath of safety that ‘she’ cannot keep. ‘She’ doesn’t want to, ‘she’s’ not something that holds on to promises. 

“Well well well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! You weren’t partial for Filth after all, were you my dear?” ‘She’s’ mocking, gloating even. Damned creature, fraudulent arm of the Twisting Deceit, she hates ‘her.’ She _despises_ 'her'.

A woman must loathe her Madness. 

“What? Which cat was it that got your pretty little tongue this time?” ‘She’ queries, tilting ‘her’ head to the side like a curious animal, and the movement is  _ wrong, jagged, undulating, terrible _ , but she doesn’t turn away. Instead, she just stares, tries to hold her gaze steady as she looks on at her nightly Tormentor. ‘She’ isn’t something you can rest your eyes upon for too long, lest you lose yourself in the fractals that form ‘her’ distorted body. 

‘She’ grins at ‘her’ captive, reaching and bending down so that the place that should hold ‘her’ face is level with the eyes of 'her' darling Tormented. How thoughtful of ‘her’. 

“Oh, it’s somebody else that has stolen that tongue of yours. No, you jest, you flatterer, it can’t possibly be…little old me?” 

The giggle of delight that passes through the Distortion’s lips is in likeness to that of a wailing, dying child, echoing from somewhere beyond the door, ‘her’ true mouth. But ‘she’ doesn’t possess such a boring thing as truth.

Neither does her captive. 

And from the throat of the woman caught in the Distortion’s yellow limelight, words that for long have hidden threaten to spill out, words she doesn’t understand, words that make no sense, words so irrational she wants to claw them out and burn them, yet she can’t help but say regardless. 

“Has it not always been you, Helen?”

As soon as the spilling words leave her mouth, she is swept off her feet, clasped by arms that twist around her body like roots, as soft as a woolly blanket yet as rough as the gray concrete. Buried under a wave of dizzying nausea, she spins through what must have once been her home, now fraying like old fabric, melting and merging into the Deceit. There goes all her sanity, her rationality, flowing down the stream of lies to the Great Ocean of Madness. 

And from that swirling pit of tar and water rises the Eternal Question, the Fraudulent Answer, her Spiral, crooked and magnificent in all ‘her’ glory. Her Helen. 

“I will take that as submission to the wonders of an irrational existence. Extending from that, I suppose it also means submission to, well, me,” Helen murmurs, 'her' grin sharp as a cunning blade, and the tiny human woman in 'her' arms leaps up to have a taste of the delicious treachery she has surrendered herself for. Now all that was once hidden spills through her eyes, past her lips and from her bleeding heart to bathe in the colourful emptiness of her newfound lying lover.

Yes, a human must loathe her Madness, despise it as the greatest sin to ever walk the Earth. Yet, she must also love it in equal measure. 

  
  


_ By the twisting strokes of all the things that never were; _

_ In their unborn screams, I am opened, in lies my hands are tied _

_ As sickly tides of Madness lap at my feet,  _

_ ‘She’ speaks in tongues not yet born,  _

_ cruel if such a thing can be _

_ In uncertainty my blood is buried _

_ The Heart of night knows naught the light, _

_ As I creep down my hallway in fright _

_ ‘She’s’ awaiting, behind the door that once was mine _

_ It’s ‘hers’ now. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading darlings, dears and monsterfuckers! Comments, kudos and bookmarks are hugely appreciated^^


End file.
